


Fate, Feelings, and Other Forked-Up Nonsense

by whovianmuse



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whovianmuse/pseuds/whovianmuse
Summary: The tape sits at the bottom of a bookshelf in Eleanor’s creepy, clown-clad living room, shoved under a stack of ethics and morality textbooks and Better Homes and Gardens magazines that Chidi had taken to leaving there. No one will ever want to watch Cannonball Run 2, she thinks. It’s perfectly safe in that battered old VHS sleeve. Irony, thou art a heartless bench.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Good Place. Respective concepts and characters belong to their creator(s). No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: Finished this fic just in time before the new episode airs tonight! Inspired by _Dance Dance Resolution_ , and spurred on by _Existential Crisis_.

            The tape sits at the bottom of a bookshelf in Eleanor’s creepy, clown-clad living room, shoved under a stack of ethics and morality textbooks and _Better Homes and Gardens_ magazines that Chidi had taken to leaving there.

 _No one will ever want to watch Cannonball Run 2,_ she thinks. _It’s perfectly safe in that battered old VHS sleeve._

            Irony, thou art a heartless bench.

            A couple of days later, in the middle of one of Chidi’s lectures, Jason picks up the tape and starts playing with it, absentmindedly sliding the cassette in and out of its sleeve, far too easily amused by the loud thwacking sound it makes every time the flimsy plastic collides with its worn paper casing. Eleanor looks up from jotting down a few bullet points in her notebook and freezes as she catches sight of it, eyes growing wide when she notices a little white label slapped across the side of the tape that reads _Eleanor & Chidi Doin’ The Nasty_ written in bright green sharpie, just barely visible as it peeks out from the top of the case.

            “Whatcha got there, buddy?” Eleanor whispers as cheerily and casually as she can manage, nudging Jason in the ribs. Jason looks down at the little rectangular box and gasps in surprise, only just realizing what he’d been holding.

            “Oh dip, I didn’t know you had _Cannonball Run 2_!” he exclaims, and bless him, he sounds genuinely excited. “I never saw the first one, but I heard it was pretty good…and I passed out halfway through the _second one_ because me and Pillboi did too many tequila shots at one of Acid Cat’s house parties.”

            His face lights up with a gleeful expression as he giggles at the memory.

            “Uh _huh_ ,” Eleanor says with an enthusiastic nod, eyes glued to the tape.

            “I kinda want to see how it ends,” Jason says thoughtfully, twirling the movie case between his fingertips. “But the Xbox in my bud-hole only plays DVDs. Do you think maybe Janet has a VCR we could use? I should ask her. Hey, Jan–”

            “Nope!” Eleanor shouts as she makes a mad grab for the video tape, swiping it out of Jason’s hands and promptly sitting on it, for lack of a better hiding place. This is the point where Eleanor looks up, flustered, and realizes that everyone in the room has heard their little squabble, eyes all swiveled in her direction; Michael, sporting his usual impatient grimace; Tahani, looking positively scandalized by the interruption; Chidi, standing at the chalkboard, lips poised around a word he’d lost track of mid-sentence, looking thoroughly confused and a little crestfallen. Eleanor barks out a nervous laugh and playfully punches Jason in the arm as he attempts to reach for the tape.

            “Hey man,” she says in a half-assed attempt at a reprimand. “Chidi works really hard to teach us all how to be good people, so we’re not gonna watch some dumb 80’s movie in the middle of one of his lectures, got it?”

            The forced cheerful smile that Eleanor painfully grits at Jason scares him more than the horrible clown paintings, and so, after a few more minutes of dramatic pleading and complaining that he’s bored out of his mind, Jason sighs in defeat, settling into a childish pout as he slides down the couch cushions, picks up his notebook, and resumes doodling penguins dressed in bowties.

            Eleanor breathes a sigh of relief as Tahani and Michael nod in agreement and turn back around to face Chidi, who blinks a few times in surprise and shoots Eleanor an appreciative smile, before picking up his chalk and finishing his Venn-Diagram. Eleanor’s face flushes hotter than a sunburn in hell, uncomfortably aware of the sharp corners of the plastic VHS tape digging into her thighs. That night, she moves the tape to the bottom drawer of her dresser, and buries it under a mountain of questionable-smelling laundry.

 

• • •

 

            That forking tape is haunting her.

            It keeps popping up _everywhere_ , like it’s just _begging_ for her to watch it. But she _isn’t_ going to watch it. Because she _doesn’t_ want to know. Every time she even _thinks_ about watching it, she moves it to another location. The bottom drawer of her bedside table, hidden under a stack of magazines. The back of the closet. The washing machine. The oven. Underneath the couch cushions, tucked away amidst a collection of moldy pennies and half-melted sticks of gum. The very back corner of the tallest cabinet in her kitchen, hidden behind a couple of boxes of expired bowtie pasta. At the back of the freezer, next to a pint-sized container of freezer-burned pistachio frozen yogurt, and… _forking hell_ , how did she _ever_ think this was the Good Place?

            But no matter where she moves it, she always ends up waking up in the middle of the night, digging it out, and staring at it, and she has no idea _why_. She really should just forget about it. Pretend it never happened. Why would she even _want_ to watch something that happened like a hundred-something reboots ago, and will ~~probably~~ _definitely_ never happen again? What does it even _matter_? It’s not like they’re going to like… _end up together_ or anything.

            Eleanor allows herself hardly more than a second to picture it; her hands skimming across his bare chest, blankets curled around their naked, entwined bodies, the curve of his lips as he’d settled into a blissful, sleepy smile, the way he’d stared into her eyes with pure adoration, holding nothing back.

_I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, but I need to tell you something–_

            A shiver runs down Eleanor’s spine that makes her feel like she’s just swallowed ice. She shakes her head, quickly dismissing that particular train of thought. Best not to waste time thinking about something she can never have…

            Not that she wants _him_ , or anything. Just, you know, hypothetically speaking.

            The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that it would never actually work between them. They’re just too different.

            Except…what’s that saying about how opposites attract?

            But even so, this version of Chidi _clearly_ has no romantic interest in her.

            Except…sometimes she thinks maybe he does?

            It’s hard to tell. The guy’s an enigma wrapped in indecision and an ugly sweater vest. But sometimes, she thinks… _maybe_?

            It’s little things.

            Like the way his eyes always seem to flicker toward her whenever he speaks. The way he loses his train of thought and stumbles over his words whenever she gives him an encouraging smile. The way his entire face lights up every time she challenges one of this theories, and engages her in a heated discussion that leaves the rest of the group groaning and rolling their eyes.

            The fact that he always stays late after every class, idling to tidy up the kitchen or to straighten his already perfectly aligned book stacks as everyone else rushes out the door. The way he keeps making up excuses to take Eleanor out to dinner or for frozen yogurt to celebrate some random new achievement he clearly just made up off the top of his head, just so they can spend a little more time together.

            Or maybe she’s just imagining it. Yeah, she’s probably just imagining it. Because someone like Chidi…someone as kind and selfless and amazing as Chidi…would never want someone like _her_. And that’s totally fine. _Good_ , even.

            It’s not like Eleanor cares either way. It’s not like she has _feelings_ for him or anything. It’s not like she gets lost in thought standing in line at the frozen yogurt shop, heart leaping into her throat every time Chidi’s hands accidentally brush against hers. Nor does she catch herself _staring_ at his hands as he gesticulates wildly, sweeping them across the chalkboard at whirlwind speed as another avenue of thought overtakes him. She doesn’t think about what his hands might feel like, curled around her hips, laced through her hair, gently cradling her face. She doesn’t find his passion for his studies endearing, or smile to herself whenever he gets carried away and nerds out like that. The word _adorable_ totally doesn’t pop into her head.

            She doesn’t feel a spark of adrenaline jolt through her chest every time he catches her staring (because she’s totally _not_ staring,) and she absolutely _does not_ blush fifty different shades of red as she quickly looks away and pretends she was taking notes. Her eyes don’t involuntarily find their way to his, or linger on his lips as he speaks, wondering if they taste like his morning coffee or his afternoon tea, absentmindedly counting all the ways she could put that quick-witted tongue of his to good use. She doesn’t wake from dreams of stolen kisses and tangled sheets, calling out his name in a strangled cry and wishing that the space beside her didn’t feel so cold. And she isn’t the _least_ bit curious about what’s on that tape.

            Nope, not even a little bit.


	2. Part Two

            Exactly one month after the fake reboot, Vicky decides to throw the entire neighborhood a _One Month-Iversary Party_ to celebrate the day that all three hundred and twenty two of them first arrived in the Good Place. To say that the evening hadn’t gone exactly as planned would be an understatement.

 

• • •

 

            “This is an absolute nightmare,” Chidi whimpers, frantically pacing back and forth across the length of Eleanor’s tiny living room. “I don’t know how I could have ever possibly thought that siding with an _actual demon_ to take down _a whole bunch of other demons_ was a good idea. I am _literally_ working with the enemy.”

            “Thanks a lot, _jackash_ ,” Michael spits furiously, fixing Chidi with a pointed glare. “But last night’s fork-up wasn’t exactly _my_ fault.”

            If looks could kill…well, it’s a good thing Chidi’s already dead.

            “Let’s review, shall we? You all agreed to work with me, and _I_ agreed to let you keep your little memories this time around, as long as you keep pretending you have no idea you’re not actually in the Good Place. I gave each of you _one job_ at Vicky’s party last night, and you all blew it. Eleanor was supposed to get drunk and smuggle out as much cake as she could carry. Chidi was supposed to be all nervous and jittery and embarrassed by his fake soul mate’s crude behavior. Tahani, still reeling from that epic party planning failure a few weeks back, was supposed to be a little resentful, a little haughty, but still the very picture of elegance and grace. Jason was supposed to be _silent_ and inconspicuous. And _what_ ended up happening instead?” Michael asks, angrily pacing the room as he ticks off each of their names on his fingers.

            “Instead, _Tahani_ is the one who gets drunk, and starts smashing away on the grand piano to a really, just truly _awful_ rendition of one of her sister’s songs. _Jian-Yu_ breaks his vow of silence in order to cheer her on, and then, of all the asinine things, starts _breakdancing_ in the living room to one of Bach’s cello suites, kicks a couple of people in the face, and permanently lodges one of Antonio’s testicles right up into his body. Eleanor is _sober_ , fists and pockets completely cake-free. And Chidi, who’s normally wound so tight you could shove a lump of coal up his ash and in two weeks, you’d have a diamond…which, pro tip, is an _excellent_ Bad Place torture method.”

            Michael lets out an impish little giggle in spite of himself, but when he looks around the room and sees that no one is laughing along with him, he heaves a disgruntled sigh, and his anger returns with gusto.

            “Ugh. You guys are the _worst_ ,” Michael grumbles, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “Out of the four of you, I would have at least expected _Chidi_ to not break character. I mean, the guy’s _so predictable_ , you could set your watch to his stomach aches. But _nooooo._ Last night? Swing and a forking miss. Instead, Chidi is _so_ relaxed, he looks like the poster child for Ativan. To make matters worse, he and Eleanor spend half the night with these stupid, slack-jawed expressions on their faces, whispering _God knows what_ to each other, and giggling away like idiots at the bar. Meanwhile, Vicky is _up my ash_ every two minutes, threatening to tell Shawn that I have forked up a grand total of eight hundred and two times now, when he still thinks we’re on version two.”

            “And now they’re onto us,” Chidi groans in exasperation, resuming his panicked pacing. “They’re going to figure out that Michael didn’t actually erase our memories, and then they’re going to torture us for all eternity. And I, for one, _really_ don’t want to find out what four-headed bears, bees with teeth, and butthole spiders are like.”

            “See, _this_ is what I was talking about,” Michael complains as he gestures toward the blur that was once a frantically pacing Chidi. “Why couldn’t you have been this panicked and sweaty last night?”

            “Oh come now, last night wasn’t a _complete_ disaster,” Tahani chirrups encouragingly, one hand on her hip as she sashays about in a pretty floral sundress like she’s on a Parisian runway. “At any rate, _I_ still looked marvelous.”

            “Are you forking _kidding me_?” Michael rages at her, a bulbous blue vein throbbing in his temple. “You made a complete fool of yourself! I mean, _really_ , did you honestly think that you could ever sound half as good as Kamilah?”

Tahani freezes, eyes growing wide as she dips her head downward in shame.

            “Well, perhaps I’m…not handling the finer details of my death as well as I thought I–” she mumbles quietly.

            “Hey man, lay off Tahani,” Jason says indignantly. He frowns rather than glares at Michael, like a tiny puppy sizing up a polar bear. “I think she looked real dope on that piano. And I wasn’t breakdancing to some old dude playing the guitar. I was breakdancing to Tahani’s song. You sounded real good, homie.”

            Tahani perks up in surprise, blinking several times before responding.

            “Well, I…thank you, Jason. That was very…” she says quietly, humbled by the sincerity of his words, naïve though they might be. No one has ever jumped to her defense like that before, and it’s left her feeling equal parts elated and embarrassed. She offers Jason a small, appreciative smile, which he returns in full; a big, goofy grin that lights up every inch of his face. Michael catches sight of this little display and recoils in revulsion, wondering what the hell happened between those two to make them so chummy all of a sudden. Then, he remembers that human emotions are stupid, and that he doesn’t give a five-headed flying rat’s ass.

            “You four,” Michael admonishes, pointing a threatening finger at each of them in turn. “Had better get your _forking shirt_ together. Do you have any idea how much damage control and ash-kissing I’m gonna have to do? I can only use the _humans are forking morons_ excuse so many times before I–”

            “You know what, bro?” Eleanor seethes, crossing her arms as she turns toward Michael. “I don’t even want to _hear it_ after the stunt you pulled at Gunnar’s birthday party. You have _some nerve_ getting on _our_ case when you nearly blew our cover a few weeks back.”

            “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have spiraled into that stupid little existential crisis if the human rain cloud over there hadn’t forced me to think about retirement,” Michael retorts, glaring daggers at Chidi.

            “Your hurt feelings are not Chidi’s responsibility,” Eleanor argues hotly. “He was just trying to get you to understand what it’s like to be human, so that _maybe_ you would finally start taking his classes a little more seriously. All he’s ever done is try to help you, and you’ve been nothing but ungrateful.”

            “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Thanks for the lecture, _mom_ ,” Michael grits through clenched teeth.

            “Don’t call me _mom_ ,” Eleanor scoffs. “Chidi and I are not your parents, dude.”

            “Well, you certainly _act_ like an old married couple,” Tahani mumbles under her breath, just loud enough for Eleanor to hear.

            “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Eleanor snaps, rounding on her.

            “Oh please, the pair of you are insufferable,” Tahani groans dramatically. “Whispering away in secret and cackling like hens at some stupid inside joke about John Rawls, constantly dominating the conversation during Chidi’s lectures while the rest of us struggle to keep up–”

            “Well maybe if you actually showed up to class once in a while–” Eleanor retorts.

            “Because _you’re_ so perfect, Miss _I Once Had An Emotional Breakdown In The Middle Of A Bed, Bath, And Beyond Over A Family Pack Of Toothbrushes!_ ”

            “You _suck_ at keeping secrets!” Eleanor whines, genuinely hurt by Tahani’s betrayal.

            “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” Chidi panics, resuming his frantic pacing.

            For lack of nothing better to do, Jason starts making a series of loud, unintelligible noises like _vroom vroom_ and _beep beep_ just so he can feel like he’s part of the conversation. Michael rolls his eyes at the four of them, mumbling something about _stupid, useless human emotions_. After that, it doesn’t take long before everyone is at each other’s throats, insults flying as they all attempt to blame one another for the evening’s atrocities.

            “Wait a minute,” Jason exclaims amidst all the shouting, eyes sliding in and out of focus as he attempts to piece everything together. ”You guys, I think _this_ might be the Bad Place!”

            Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Michael all turn to look at him, stunned to silence.

            “Are…are you serious right now?” Chidi asks, head tilted to the side in genuine concern. Jason merely shrugs, the corners of his mouth twisted into a frown.

            “I thought you guys were supposed to be my friends,” he says simply. “And friends don’t fight like this, or blame bad stuff on each other, or call each other mean names like you guys are doing. So there’s no way that this is the Good Place.”

            Eleanor sighs heavily, kicks off her shoes, and slides down the opposing wall, sinking to the floor as she tucks her head between her knees and covers her face with her hands. Chidi closes his eyes and rubs his temples with the tips of his fingers.

            “As much as it pains me to say this, Jason is right,” Chidi admits begrudgingly. “Arguing and blaming each other isn’t going to accomplish anything. We’re supposed to be a team. Team Cockroach, remember? What we _need_ to do is buckle down and work together to come up with a better plan.”

            “But we’ve already tried a bunch of different plans, and they’ve all failed,” Eleanor groans, raking her fingers through her hair. “Last night, we failed so hard that we couldn’t even manage to pretend to be _ourselves_. Let’s face it! We’re just a bunch of dumb, dead humans who thought they could go up against _actual hellfire demons_ with Men in Black mind-erasy powers. I mean, we’re talking about three hundred and eighteen immortal motherforkers who stuck us with a clam chowder fountain and a restaurant called the Hokey Gnocchi. These nut-jobs are pure evil.”

            “I think you’re forgetting about the fact that we’ve managed to outsmart Michael over _eight hundred times_ now. No matter how many times he kept rebooting this little afterlife torture sequence of his, _we_ kept figuring it out. That’s got to count for something,” Tahani reminds them all with a radiant smile.

            “Well, fork you too, Tahani,” Michael says bitterly.

            “What I _meant_ ,” Tahani amends with an air of impatience. “Is that if we can outsmart Michael, then tricking Vicky should be easy-peasy.”

            “ _Eleanor_ , actually,” Chidi corrects her, his expression thoughtful. “ _Eleanor_ kept figuring it out. Every. Single. Time. That’s…incredibly impressive, when you think about it.”

            Tahani mumbles something unintelligible and turns her back to hide an exhaustive eye roll.

            “I know that what we’re trying to undertake here seems impossible, and it’s easy to get carried away with anger and anxiety,” Chidi adds with a self-depreciating little smile. “But I think that as long as we’ve got Eleanor, we have a fighting chance.”

            Eleanor’s lips twitch into a small smile in spite of herself, face growing hot under Chidi’s intense, unwavering gaze. Even in moments of complete chaos, when everything seems hopeless, Chidi always tries to look on the bright side. He’s her flashlight.

            A series of resounding groans and retches of nausea snap Eleanor out of her reverie, and when she whips around to face Michael and Tahani, she’s surprised to find them scoffing and rolling their eyes at her.

            “What the fork is your problem?” Eleanor hisses, anger flaring up anew.

            “Look, I’m sorry you’re still upset about the whole _me figuring out your stupid little torture plan_ thing,” she says, eyes narrowing as she glares back and forth between Michael and Tahani. “And I’m sorry _you’re_ still salty about the fact that the Arizona dirtbag figured it out before you did, but that doesn’t mean you can just–”

            “No, no, it’s not that,” Tahani sighs, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s _you two_.”

            She points one perfectly-manicured, accusatory finger between Eleanor and Chidi.

            “What,” Chidi stutters as he leans back against the blackboard and casually rests his elbow in a pile of chalk dust. “What do you mean _us two_?”

            “You and Eleanor,” Tahani says, rolling her eyes like it should be _obvious_. “The secret glances, the simpering little smiles, the longing looks. You think the rest of us don’t notice, but we do. You’re not exactly _subtle_.”

            Chidi looks like someone just slapped him across the face.

            “I don’t…um…underst–” he flounders, his face growing hot under Tahani’s scrutinizing gaze.

            “ _Just fork each other already_ ,” Michael practically shouts, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. “ _Clearly_ you both _want_ to. You can smell the pheromones from a mile away. _Literally_.”

            Michael pinches the bridge of his nose and mimes vomiting.

            “ _Excuse me_?” Eleanor and Chidi shout in unison, looking positively scandalized. They turn to face one another, lips curving upward in twin smirks, Eleanor on the verge of shouting, _Jinx! You owe me a soda!_ before they remember the intensely awkward situation at hand, and their eyes widen in horror, cheeks blushing an identical shade of crimson.

            “You see what I mean?” Tahani says conspiratorially, nudging Michael in the ribs. “ _Completely_ insufferable.”

            “I couldn’t agree more,” Michael says, sneering at the pair of them.

            “Old married couple, just like I said. They’ve even started mirroring one another. It’s very unsettling,” Tahani says, adding in a disgusted little shiver for dramatic effect.

            “Yeah, _whatever,_ crazy lady,” Eleanor dismisses with a nervous laugh.

            “Me and _Eleanor_?” Chidi agrees, his voice shrill and a little hysterical. “The very idea is _preposterous_.”

            Eleanor’s fake smile falters for the tiniest fraction of a second, heart dropping down into the pit of her stomach. She steals a glance up at Chidi, waiting for him to take it back.

            “Uh huh, yeah, sure,” Michael chides, rolling his eyes. “Look, I get that humans have limited eyesight and can’t see all the same dimensions that an all-powerful immortal being like myself can see, but trust me, the human colloquialism _you could cut the sexual tension with a knife_ is applicable here. And it’s _disgusting_.”

            Michael grimaces as he wafts his hands through the air, batting away an invisible cloud of sexual tension. Eleanor slips further down the wall until she’s practically lying on the floor, splayed out like a ragdoll, and covers her face with her hands. Chidi looks like he’s just swallowed a lemon.

            “What we mean to say,” Tahani amends in what she imagines is a sage, soothing tone. “Though perhaps not as ineloquently as Michael has just phrased it…is that whatever this thing is that’s transpiring between the two of you…it’s proving incredibly disruptive to our classes. And anything that delays my one-way ticket to the _actual_ Good Place is a complication that must be snuffed out. So please, for the sake of our sanity and your own, spare us all another month of having to deal with the…in Michael’s case, _literal_ …suffocating sexual tension that pollutes the air every time the pair of you are in a room together.”

            “Yeah, not only is it disrupting ethics classes,” Michael chimes in. “But it’s bleeding into the way you two interact when you’re out in public together. Instead of hating each other’s guts, you’re mooning about making doe-eyes at each other, and it’s starting to make everyone suspicious.”

            “We’re not doing _anything_ –” Eleanor protests, but Michael cuts her off.

            “I just don’t get how you two can’t see it,” he says thoughtfully, his tone softening a little. “I mean, it’s glaringly obvious to the rest of us. Heck, _they’re_ a bunch of idiotic demons who don’t know their ash from their elbow, and even _they_ can see that you two have got it _bad_ for each other. So just… _do_ something about it, will you? Get it all out of your system so you can stop inflicting this _will they, won’t they_ garbage on the rest of us.”

            Chidi makes a short succession of high-pitched choking sounds, mouth hanging open in shock as Michael crosses his arms and giggles wickedly, only just realizing how uncomfortable he’s made the two of them.

            “On that note,” Tahani trills happily, looping an arm through Jason’s and dragging him toward the front door. “I think we ought to leave these two alone to… _chat_ , as it were. Michael, would you care to join us for brunch? I hear they’re serving savory cheesecake at The Good Plates.”

            Michael sighs and begrudgingly agrees, shooting one last pointed glare at Eleanor and Chidi, and mouthing _get your shit together_ before whipping out the door after Jason and Tahani.


	3. Part Three

            The silence that settles into the air is stifling, and Eleanor can say with absolute certainty that she has never felt so uncomfortable in her entire life. Every inch of her body feels like it’s on fire. Even her _teeth_ are itchy.

            The seconds tick by at an agonizing crawl, the only sound punctuating their panicked breathing the fake cheerful birdsong playing on a loop outside of Eleanor’s kitchen window. After a few moments of unbearable awkwardness, Eleanor chances a peek through her fingers and glances up at Chidi, who looks like he’s on the verge of having a heart attack.

            “So _that_ was–” Eleanor starts, not entirely sure how she wants that sentence to end. She falters, battling the instinctual urge to beat down her feelings and write the moment off as a joke. She studies Chidi’s expression, trying to gauge his reaction.

            “Interesting,” she says, decidedly neutral.

            “Yeah, that was… _something_ ,” Chidi agrees, pushing his glasses all the way up his forehead until they’re perched on top of his hair, before realizing that he can’t actually see without them, and then slapping them back down onto the bridge of his nose.

            “I mean, it’s _crazy_ , right? You and me… _together_ ,” Chidi lilts, and Eleanor could almost swear she hears a note of hope in his voice. Like he’s asking her to prove him wrong.

            Instead, the words _yeah, crazy_ tumble out of her mouth before she can swallow them back, followed by a heavy, defeated sigh.

            “Cool,” Chidi says softly, his voice betraying the tiniest hint of pain as he scrambles for an excuse, _any excuse_ , to get as far away from Eleanor’s tiny, cramped living room as he possibly can, before the all-consuming tension between them threatens to swallow him whole.

            Feed his cat. Water his plants.

            Except, he doesn’t actually _have_ a cat. Or plants.

            Well, maybe he can ask Janet for one or the other. That way, it won’t be a lie, whichever excuse he chooses.

            Sure, that seems reasonable. He’ll just _get a cat._ Ethical dilemma solved.

            “Cool,” he says slowly, making his mind up. “Hey, you know what? I…uh…actually have to get going. Gotta head back to my apartment, because…I just realized…that I...forgot…to…water my cat.”

            Well…gold star for effort.

            “But you don’t have a cat,” Eleanor says, head tilted to the side in confusion.

            “Feed my plants, water my cat…it’s one of those two,” Chidi chokes out around a manic laugh. Without further word or warning, he sprints toward the front door and sweeps from the room before Eleanor has a chance to say anything else.

 _Yeah_ , she thinks to herself. _Crazy_.

 

• • •

 

            She’s not entirely sure how much time she spends sprawled out on the floor, staring at her front door, willing Chidi to walk back in and say… _something_. But the minutes tick past until she’s lost all feeling in her toes and the muscles in her back have started to cramp horribly. So, with a heavy sigh, Eleanor eases herself up off the floor and begins pacing the living room in a very Chidi-esque manner, wracking her brain to try to figure out what the hell just happened.

            Married couple. Secret smiles. Longing looks. _Pfft._

            They’re wrong, _obviously_ , Michael and Tahani. They’re _way_ off the mark. Chidi even said it himself…the very _idea_ of the two of them together is just _ridiculous_. If that’s not confirmation enough, then–

            _But the hurt in his eyes when you agreed with him,_ Eleanor’s brain chimes in, and her heart does a summersault in her chest.

            “Nope!” Eleanor shouts into the silent void that is her living room.

            “This is stupid. Feelings are _stupid_ ,” she says, repeating it like a mantra as she paces the length of her living room.

She absolutely _doesn’t_ have feelings for Chidi. Sure, she likes him well enough…as a _friend_. And why wouldn’t she? He’s a great person. He’s kind, and he’s patient, and he’s selfless to a fault. But that’s _all_. Their relationship is strictly platonic, that of a student and a teacher. And yeah, it’s not like she’s against the whole _sleeping with her professor_ thing, but this is _Chidi_ we’re talking about.

            Chidi, with his stupid Clark Kent glasses and his extensive turtleneck collection. Chidi, with his obnoxious whining and his exhaustive indecisiveness. Chidi, who always gets a stomach ache at the slightest hint of stress. There’s _way_ more stuff that she hates about him than likes about him. For instance…

            The way he drones on and _on_ about his favorite philosophers, timing out at a two-hour monologue about John Rawls. (Granted, he did laugh and kinda make fun of himself after he found out she’d been timing him. It was actually a pretty nice moment. But still.) The way he twitches his eyebrows whenever he says abso _lu_ tism. The way he says _cleanliness is next to godliness_ as he chastises her for leaving piles of dishes and dirty laundry all over the house.

            The way his irritatingly superior way of talking to her always makes her feel like everything he says is a backhanded compliment. (And yeah, she knows he doesn’t _mean_ to come off that way, and he always apologizes whenever he accidentally does, and he never, ever makes fun of her, even when she sounds like an ignorant garbage person, which is nice.) But that doesn’t mean that she’s _in love_ with him or anything.

            Would she go so far as to say that he’s _attractive_? Sure. Chidi’s not bad to look at. He’s actually kind of cute…but in like an incredibly nerdy, _Super-Dork Jones_ kind of way. And he’s _surprisingly_ jacked (which she found out by accident that one time when a bee flew into his shirt and he flipped out and stripped down to his skivvies. It was hilarious.) But she can’t think about him like that, because he’s Chidi. Best friend slash afterlife savior slash weird annoying teacher that she hates _Chidi_.

            Chidi, with his stupid, adorable face that lights up every time he sees her. Chidi, with his annoyingly infectious laughter that makes her feel like she’s just downed a mug of steaming hot coffee laced with caramel and a shot of bourbon on a cold winter morning. _Chidi forking Anagonye_ , with a smile like actual motherforking _sunshine_ that melts the ice and barbed wire around her cold, dead heart, warming every bit of her from the inside out. Chidi, with his kind, dark eyes that pierce hers with such a fervid intensity that she’s worried one lingering glance will give her away, and–

 _Oh fork,_ she’s in love with Chidi.

            The floodgates burst open and suddenly she’s drowning in a cascade of daydreams she’d tried so hard to fight against. The two of them, staying late after one of his classes, locked a heated argument that sparks bold confessions and surprised gasps. The two of them, caught in the middle of a thunderstorm, giggling and shouting as they run to seek shelter, stolen kisses and breathless laughter, hands grasping at each other’s rainsoaked clothes as Chidi pulls her into his side to keep her warm. The two of them, wrapped up in a sea of blankets, Eleanor’s head resting against his chest as Chidi’s fingertips trace constellations in the freckles that dapple her skin. All the things she wants, but knows she can never have.

            _But you did have it_ , that little voice at the back of her mind whispers. _Once_.

 _Twenty times, actually,_ Eleanor retorts with a smug smile.

            “Fork it,” she sighs, dashing to her bedroom and digging out the battered old copy of _Cannonball Run 2_ , hidden at the bottom of her underwear drawer.

            Because she’s tired of wondering. Tired of guessing. Tired of filling in the blanks and building it up into something more than it probably was. Tired of letting her imagination run wild, because she’s willing to bet that the real thing isn’t even _half_ as good as all the stuff she’s been imagining. She’s fed up and frustrated, and _so over_ dealing with this emotional rollercoaster of what-ifs and maybes, so she might as well just get it over with and watch the damn thing.

 

• • •

 

            Janet pops into the living room the moment Eleanor calls her name, which all but gives Eleanor a mini heart attack. After reassuring her nearly a dozen times that no one but the two of them can view Eleanor’s search history, Janet promptly installs a VCR adapter into Eleanor’s television, and disappears the moment Eleanor thanks her. Eleanor double-checks the lock on her front door, closes all the blinds, and makes absolutely certain that she’s alone, before popping the tape into the VCR. She holds her breath as it starts up, and watches it in little increments, pausing and un-pausing like she’s anticipating a jump-scare in a horror film.

            It starts with the two of them arguing, because _of course it does_. They’ve locked themselves in Mindy’s guest bedroom, and are fighting about how best to take down Michael. Eleanor keeps suggesting that they somehow throw Tahani under the bus (“Maybe we throw her a little bit harder…maybe under a bigger bus!”) and Chidi is rolling his eyes and calling her _impossible_. He’s yelling at her, she’s yelling at him, and things are getting pretty heated as they bicker like an old married cou– _nope_!

            Normally, Eleanor is the ballsy, shameless one when it comes to seduction, which is why she’s shocked when Chidi makes the first move. Both versions of Eleanor let out a surprised gasp that quickly turns into a contented sigh, because even in his passionate spontaneity, Chidi is gentle, careful, and sweet. He cradles her face in the palms of his hands and kisses her softly, slowly, straddling that fine line between fervent and tame so effortlessly, and _damn_ he looks good when he closes his eyes and weaves his hands through the length of her hair, urging her closer until she’s pressed right up against his chest. She’s never seen him like this before. This isn’t the Chidi she’s used to. He’s all fire and confidence, and it’s…actually kinda sexy.

            And then he pulls back and fixes her with this frightened, shamefaced expression and immediately starts apologizing (and _there’s_ the Chidi she knows.)

            “Oh my God, Eleanor, I am _so_ sorry,” he says in a panicked rush. “I…I don’t know why I did that, I just…didn’t know what else to do…you kept interrupting me and talking over me, and I was just so overcome with this _urge_ to just–”

            On-screen Eleanor interrupts him again, but this time it’s with a kiss of her own. Her style is a little rougher, a little more self-assured as she tugs him closer by the collar of his button-down shirt, delighting in the way it elicits a soft, low moan from the back of his throat.

            “Guess I interrupted you again,” she teases, drawing back from him with a cheeky little smirk. “What are you gonna do about it?”

            And Chidi…Chidi honest to God smiles. It’s equal parts exasperated and amused, and…maybe a little flirty? At least, that’s what she thinks Chidi would look like if he ever tried to flirt.

            Things move pretty quickly from there. There’s a whole lot of kissing, and then they’re taking each other’s clothes off, and all the while, Chidi is repeatedly asking her if this is okay, if she’s _sure_ she wants to do this with him. Eleanor punctuates each enthusiastic _yes_ with a kiss, winding her way down the length of his neck and all across his chest and shoulders. Then he’s kissing her all over, taking his time as he teases her, slowly, languidly. Then she’s got him pinned to the bed, propped up on his elbows, staring up at her like she’s a work of art. And then she’s prowling up the length of him, straddling his hips and positioning herself _just so_ until she’s hovering teasingly above him. For one split-second of a moment, the world is still, and then–

            _Oh_.

            And _that’s_ when she hears the sound of her front door opening.

            _That’s_ when she remembers that she’d given Chidi a key.

            “Eleanor,” Chidi calls from the hallway, his voice laced with anguish and concern. “Eleanor, I don’t like the way we left things before. Could we just…”

            He sighs heavily, pockets his keys, and paces toward the living room.

            “Could we maybe talk about it? Get some frozen yogurt, and just– oh– _oh my God_!”

            “OH MY GOD,” Eleanor screams back at him as he rounds the corner, eyes wide in abject horror as he stares at the moving figures on her television screen. Eleanor smashes the _off_ button, but only succeeds in hitting the _up_ arrow for the volume, making it louder and louder until the only ambience left in the room is the sound of their breathless moans, calling out each other’s names as the squeak of Mindy’s guest bed hums along in a steady rhythm, the sheer volume of their on-screen dalliance all but shaking the house as it reverberates off the living room walls.

            “Help me turn it off!” Eleanor shouts at him frantically, jumping up and down on the couch cushions. Chidi shakes his head as if coming out of a daydream, tears his eyes away from the screen, and grabs the remote out of Eleanor’s flailing hands. With one simple click, the screen disappears, and they’re left with a resounding silence that fills their ears with a deafening ringing.

            “ _Oh my God_ ,” Eleanor whines, drawing out the syllables with a strangled cry as she plunks down onto the couch cushions and covers her face with her hands, wondering idly if it’s possible to die from embarrassment when you’re already dead.

            “So, um,” she says after a few moments of unbearable silence, tossing him a sheepish smile. “You were saying something about fro-yo?”

            Chidi purses his lips into a very thin line, closes his eyes, and shakes his head.

            “Eleanor,” he chokes out, his voice breaking an octave higher than it usually is. “What the actual _fork_ did I just see?”

            “It’s…uh…” Eleanor flounders, desperately grasping at any excuse she can use to avoid actually having to tell him the truth. _For fuck’s sake_ , she hasn’t had nearly enough time to process it herself, let alone sit down and have a conversation about a sex tape that neither of them remember starring in _with_ the man she – _apparently_ – is in love with. _Was_ in love with? She’s not quite sure how this whole reboot thing actually works. In any case, she’s absolutely mortified, and her brain is screaming _abort! abort!_ but she knows there’s no way in hell she’d ever get away with lying about it. Not with Chidi, the morality-happy human lie detector.

            Besides, there’s not enough brain bleach in the universe to wash away the lurid images he’d just burned into his retinas, so Eleanor sighs in defeat, and begrudgingly tells him the short and sweet version of what happened when they went to the Medium Place to visit Mindy a little over a month ago, leaving out as many dirty little details as humanly possible. By the end of her story, Chidi is staring at her with pure, unbridled shock.

            “If this is some kind of weird, twisted joke you’re playing on me, Eleanor, it’s not funny,” he says, pacing back and forth across the living room in a perfect imitation of how he’d looked just a few hours prior.

            “I’m not forking with you, I swear,” Eleanor insists, fiddling with a loose string on one of her throw pillows and looking anywhere but directly at him.

            “So... _what,_ we just...I mean, you and I, we…” he quavers, swallowing thickly. “ _How_?”

            Eleanor’s eyes grow wide.

            “Oh come on, dude, tell me I’m not gonna have to have the birds and the bees talk with you,” she scoffs. “You’re a nerd, sure, but it’s not like you’re not attractive or anything. You’re actually kinda hot, and _surprisingly_ ripped. There’s no way that you died a virg–”

            “No,” Chidi interjects, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. “No, no. I’ve had sex before. I can assure you that I know _exactly_ what I’m doing when it comes to… _that_ …it’s just…I didn’t think that _we_ would ever–”

            “You’re tellin’ me, buddy. And twenty-something times, no less,” Eleanor says with a small shake of her head, vehemently trying not to think about the fact that Chidi apparently knows _exactly what he’s doing_ when it comes to–

            “TWENTY TIMES?!” Chidi shouts, quieting down immediately when Eleanor shushes him and waves emphatically at the nosy neighbors in the house next to hers.

            “We had...I mean, _you and I_ , we.. _.twenty times_?” Chidi asks, exasperated.

            “Could’ve been more, I don’t know,” Eleanor guesses. “That’s only accounting for what Mindy-The-Pervert kept track of. Twenty times over the span of eight different days.”

            “That’s an average of 2.5 times per day!” Chidi exclaims, and Eleanor can’t help but snort in amusement. _Of course_ he would be thinking about math at a time like this.

            “But _how_?” Chidi insists, raking his hands through his hair. “It’s just so _unbelievable_.”

            And, okay, that hurt a little more than she thought it would. It’s not like she’s _hideous_ or anything.

            “We _were_ paired off as soul mates,” Eleanor says defensively. “It’s not _that_ huge of a shocker.”

            “Yes, but from what I can gather, we always slept together _after_ we had already figured out that the whole thing was a set-up,” Chidi reasons. “It wasn’t something we did out of obligation, because we actually thought that we had found our one true soul mate. In fact, in some of the reboots, we _weren’t_ paired up with one another, and were therefore technically cheating on our soul mates _with_ each other. And yes, I know that none of it was real and they were all demons in disguise, so there really isn’t an ethical dilemma there, but _still_. That means that over the course of eight hundred and two different timelines, in a seemingly perfect afterlife containing three hundred and twenty other people, you and I somehow managed to not only keep finding one another, but kept ending up romantically entangled.”

            “Think about how remarkable that is,” he adds with an air of excitement, slipping into full-blown professor mode as he dissects the logistics of their interactions and subsequent feelings, finding comfort in the abstract and the theoretical. _And they say romance is dead_ , Eleanor muses.

            “This impossible, serendipitous phenomenon happened, over and over again in a multitude of different ways, across eight hundred and two different timelines. Against all odds, we kept seeking each other out. Something kept drawing us together…but _what_ and _why_?”

            A million and one different ways to ruin the moment run through Eleanor’s mind, threatening to break through that flimsy filter. She opens her mouth, poised on the edge of a terrible joke, but Chidi barrels past the interruption, far too caught up in his ideological rambling.

            “When you really think about it,” he says, pacing the living room in a dizzying blur. “It begs the question of one of the oldest philosophical arguments ever posed…the existence of fate, destiny, and free will.”

            Chidi pauses mid-pace and chances a glance over at Eleanor. His expression softens.

            “I’ll admit,” he says, the faintest hint of a smile flickering across his face. “When Michael first told me that I had a soul mate, I was…cautiously optimistic. The hope of finding true companionship, well…it seemed too good to be true. And it _was_ …or so I thought. Now, I have to wonder if the concept of soul mates isn’t just idyllic hokum, yet another torture tactic dreamt up by Michael and his minions to toy with our emotions. Perhaps I _do_ have a soul mate after all…and maybe that’s why, no matter how many times we’re forced to forget one another, against all odds, we keep finding our way back to one another.”

            Eleanor’s heart thunders in her chest, taking in the gravity of what he’d just said. Back on earth, her two basic instincts were either to bolt or make a bad joke whenever someone tried to get all _srs bsns_ about emotions with her. And right now, she’s fighting harder than she ever has to keep both of those reactions at bay.

            “We knew that we weren’t _actually_ supposed to be together right from the off, yet we still ended up wanting each other,” Chidi continues, a self-satisfied little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So in that sense, we _do_ have free will, because we _chose_ each other. And we _kept_ choosing each other, over and over again, in spite of the fact that our very environment was so vehemently against us doing so. The question is: _why?_ Why were we drawn to one another, over and over again?”

            “Hate sex?” Eleanor ventures with a sardonic smile, her resolve shattering as she vies for the latter defensive tactic, and the words come tumbling out of her mouth before she can think them through. “Maybe you were talking _way too much_ like you are right now and I jumped your bones just to get you to shut up. Or _maybe_ you stopped questioning every little detail long enough to notice that I’m a hot piece of ash and you couldn’t keep your hands off of me.”

            “Be serious, Eleanor,” Chidi sighs wearily, the hopeful little smile fading from his lips.

            “Oh _come on_ , are you honestly suggesting that we might actually be _soul mates_?” Eleanor asks shrilly, genuinely terrified that it might actually be true.

            “I–” Chidi falters, considering her. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s hard to identify what our motivations were, given that our memories kept getting erased. Were there deeper feelings involved, or was it purely physical? Perhaps there’s some truth to your jesting. After all, it’s not hard to imagine that from a biological standpoint, we would be drawn to one another. As you’ve stated on several occasions, you’re not _opposed_ to my physique. And you _are_ conventionally beautiful, and charming in a weird, quirky kind of way that makes my stomach flip…sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way.”

            Eleanor’s head spins as she takes this all in, trying her damnedest not to latch onto the fact that Chidi said she was beautiful, or that sometimes, she makes his stomach flip _in a good way_.

            “So it’s not implausible,” Chidi presses on with a slight frown. “To think that it _was_ merely physical…some carnal, animal instinct born out of tension and heightened emotions…and maybe, in some of the reboots, it _was_ as simple as that.”

            “However, the sheer volume at which it kept happening,” he counter-argues, lips quirking upward into an unmistakably smug smile. “And the fact that we were repeatedly drawn to one another, despite our dramatic differences and constant quarreling, leads me to believe that there was something more at play, something deeper…some mysterious, magnetic pull, driving us toward one another on an unconscious level.”

            As Chidi slows to the end of his speech, his voice is barely above a whisper, soft and soothing, and despite Eleanor’s pounding heart, the gentle sound of his voice keeps her calm, steady, focused. And _fuck_ , this guy must really be worth it, because Eleanor has never fought this hard to suppress her natural instincts before. Every nerve ending in her body is lit up like a live wire, adrenaline swimming through her veins, screaming at her to _run_ , because feelings are stupid and love is weakness, but all she can think about is the way she looked on that tape when she confessed to Chidi that she loved him. Happy, relaxed, secure.

            And even now, when she looks into Chidi’s bright, hopeful eyes, there’s no pang of guilt because someone fell harder for her than she did for them, no wave of nausea at the thought of having to open up and talk about her feelings, no desire to _just bounce_ without so much as a cursory breakup text. When she looks at Chidi, she sees a man who’s fighting just as hard against his own insecurities and instincts, because he honestly believes that what they’ve got is something _real_ , something worth fighting for. That Eleanor is _someone_ worth fighting for….which is something Chidi has proven to her, time and time again in a multitude of different ways…and she can’t believe it’s taken her this long to realize it.

            “Maybe…” she sighs heavily, heart leaping into her throat as she glances up at him. “Maybe you were onto something with that whole _deeper_ _feelings_ thing.”

            Chidi seems to struggle with an internal battle for which emotion gets control of his facial features. In the end, cautious curiosity wins.

            “What exactly do you mean by that?” he asks, dragging out the words with slow uncertainty, trying not to sound too hopeful.

            “Oh God, um…okay. So there’s something _kinda_ important that I forgot to tell you about that tape,” she says shakily, anxiety ramping up to full capacity as she realizes what she’s about to admit. “And I need you to not freak out, okay? Because if you freak out, then I’m gonna start freaking out, because I’ve never actually said this before and _meant_ it, so it’s kind of a big deal, and I–”

            “Eleanor,” Chidi says softly, and she could swear she’s never heard her name sound so sweet. “It’s okay. Just tell me.”

            “Okay, here goes,” Eleanor sighs. “At the very end, after we–”

            Eleanor falters, and Chidi quickly changes his expectant expression to an understanding nod, for which Eleanor is immensely grateful, because right now, she feels like a kid in high school sex ed.

            “We were _cuddling_ ,” she admits hesitantly, because even _that_ is a foreign concept to her. “And talking about what was going to happen to us if our memories got erased again, and I…I told you that I love you…and you said it back.”

            Something ever so subtle shifts in Chidi’s expression, a sense of wonder mingled with cautious disbelief that tugs the corners of his lips up into a tentative smile. They stare at one another for what feels like ages, willing themselves to remember some small sliver of those stolen intimate moments. And then–

            “Show me,” Chidi says suddenly, his tone uncharacteristically confident, decisive.

            Eleanor blinks rapidly, startled back to reality.

            “What?” she asks, a little sharper than she’d meant.

            “Show me the tape,” he says simply.

            Eleanor’s eyebrows rise so high they’re practically straddling her hairline.

            “You…uh…you want to see us having–”

            “No, no,” Chidi assures her with a nervous chuckle. “No, I mean…show me the part at the end, where we…where we said–”

            “Oh,” Eleanor sighs in relief.

            “I mean no offense to you,” Chidi explains, worried that he’s somehow upset her. “But I can’t just take your word for it. I need to see it for myself… _hear_ myself saying those words.”

            “Yeah,” Eleanor agrees with a small nod. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

            Chidi holds out a hand for Eleanor to take, and gently pulls her to her feet. For the smallest span of seconds, she feels the hastened thrum of his heart against hers, reverberating against her ribcage as she’s pressed right up against him, his lips a mere few inches from hers.

            With a regretful sigh, she draws back from him and grabs the remote off the top of the bookcase where Chidi had left it. She clicks the button to turn it on, fast-forwards a little, and watches as a miniature version of herself from a hundred alternate realities ago drapes an arm across Chidi’s chest, nuzzling in under his chin as he curls an arm around her side and gently caresses her shoulders.

            _I don’t know what’s gonna happen to us, but I need to tell you something. I love you_ _…_ _and you don’t need to respond, because I know you have trouble saying how you feel–_

 _I love you, too_.

            The Chidi on-screen smiles down at her warmly, before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her forehead. A few seconds later, the tape cuts out, and the screen goes blank. Eleanor and Chidi turn to face one another.

            “See? I wasn’t lying,” Eleanor jokes, but it comes across a little more defensive than she’d meant it to.

            “I never thought you were,” Chidi assures her. “It’s just so… _unbelievable_.”

            Eleanor makes a sound like a wounded kitten, and Chidi’s eyes grow wide.

            “No, no,” he says apologetically, reaching for her hand and gently encompassing it between his own. “I don’t mean that the idea of someone loving you is unbelievable, _trust me_ , it’s just that–”

            Chidi sighs heavily, trying to compose himself.

            “I’ve never admitted feelings like that without hesitation before,” he explains, looking slightly chagrined. “Even on the rare occasion where I _did_ finally say it to someone, I was never really certain if I ever actually meant it, or if I had simply said it out of a sense of guilt or obligation. Regardless of the reason, it never truly felt genuine. From that point on, and in fact, until well after the relationship had ended, I _constantly_ questioned it. Sometimes aloud, _while_ I was with them. It drove all of my ex-girlfriends crazy, and quite frankly, I don’t blame them for resenting me because of it. Looking back, it was probably the driving factor that ruined the majority of my adult relationships. They were always the first to say it, and I just… _paused_ …and stared at them blankly.”

            Eleanor quirks an eyebrow, fighting back a self-satisfied little smile at the idea that Chidi – or at least, some version of him – had loved _her_ more than any of his exes.

            “But on that tape, with you, all those lifetimes ago,” he says softly, his voice like honey. “I told you that I loved you with such unequivocal conviction that I almost didn’t recognize myself. And maybe that means that somewhere along the line, you began to have just as much of a positive effect on me as I did on you…that you taught me how to be a more decisive person, to be true to myself and to what _I_ wanted, rather than just relying on what I thought was morally right. And in that timeline, I wanted _you_.”

            And this, _this_ is exactly what Eleanor means when she says that Chidi’s smile is like actual sunshine, because the look he gives her is so bright, so warm, so full of pride, that it melts her heart. Somehow, this turtleneck-wearing, ethics-obsessed, indecisive nerd with a penchant for unapologetic candor and tedious rigidity has found a way to inject more poetic heart and soul into one string of words than all the cheesy love songs, cliché rom coms, and trashy romance novels Eleanor has ever tried to escape into. Eleanor can’t help but smile, lips poised to respond with something she hopes is just as sweet and sincere, when–

            “Of course, the exact opposite might be true,” Chidi counters, killing the moment with a swift dose of cynicism. “There _is_ the terrifying possibility that none of this is real…that we’re all just pawns in Michael’s game…that everything on that tape, the Medium Place, Mindy St. Clair, even Michael defecting to our side…is all a lie.”

            And just like that, Eleanor’s smile disappears. Dark clouds roll over the sun, and an aching emptiness that she doesn’t quite understand settles into the pit of her stomach. Their memories have been rebooted so many times, and they’ve been teased and tortured and forked around by a team of hellish demons whose second nature is to lie between their teeth and make it sound like a kiss, that it’s hard to tell what’s real anymore, or who she can trust.

            She looks up into Chidi’s eyes, expecting them to reflect the same hurt and confusion that she feels, but his expression is nothing short of calm, assured, and genuine. And in that moment, she instantly _knows_.

            Chidi.

            _Chidi_ is real.

            That flutter in her chest when he holds her hand. _That’s_ real.

            And that’s good enough for her.

            “Or,” Chidi says softly, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. “It could be real.”

            He smiles down at her encouragingly, coaxing her to follow suit.

            “You see, there are certain things that you just can’t fake, regardless of how powerful an immortal entity you are,” he says with a casual roll of his eyes. “True, Michael has been erasing our _minds_ , but what about the residual effects our actions and experiences have had on our bodies? What about muscle memory? What about all the little details that can’t be accounted for? Dreams about places we’ve never been…familiar faces we could swear we’ve never met…the way our hearts race when we look at someone and can’t quite figure out _why_ a perfect stranger could have such a strong impact on us.”

            Chidi tilts his head forward to emphasize that he means _her_ , and Eleanor can’t help but bark out a laugh.

            “Even though we can’t remember it, it all still happened,” Chidi presses on. “So, if we truly _were_ together as many times as Mindy said we were, then at some point, we would have started to pick up on each other’s preferences and idiosyncrasies. I, for one, would have memorized the way your lips felt against mine…the way you liked to be touched.”

            A shot of adrenaline prickles the back of Eleanor’s neck, sending shivers down her spine at the images he’s just conjured. She bites her bottom lip to hide a smile, delighting in the way it makes Chidi falter for a moment, lost for words.

            “Certain details,” he says, eyes fixed on the curve of her lips. “Instinctual reactions, learned habits and routines…can’t be so easily _unlearned_. Some part of us, in some small way, might be able to remember…even if it’s not quite in the way that we expect.”

            Eleanor tilts her head to the side, trying to reason out what he’d just said.

            “So, what, our bodies might remember what our brains forgot?” she asks curiously.

            “It’s a working theory,” Chidi says with a surreptitious smile.

            “Out of curiosity,” he adds. “How many times did we say that to one another?”

            “Just the once, according to Mindy,” Eleanor replies. Chidi hums thoughtfully.

            “Okay,” he says with a small, decisive nod. “Well, that doesn’t mean that those feelings weren’t still there, all those other times. Theoretically speaking, in various alternate reboots, one or both of us could have fallen for the other, and just never worked up the nerve to say anything.”

            Eleanor smirks.

            “An emotionally constipated narcissist who bottles up all of her feelings and a tortured academic who can’t make up his mind about how he feels? Yeah, that checks out,” she says, and Chidi lets out a breathless chuckle.

            “So, given that line of logic…you _could_ argue that there is a very real possibility that one or _both_ of us…is doing that right now?” he asks slowly, tentatively, urging her to read between the lines.

            Eleanor pauses, considering him.

            “Cheedster,” she says, because she still can’t help but ruin the moment just a little bit. _Hey, she’s not perfect, but she’s working on it._ “Are you trying to tell me that you have a crush on me?”

            Chidi honest to God laughs, and Eleanor could swear she sees the faintest hint of a blush curl across the curves of his cheekbones.

            “I _might_ have been developing certain romantically inclined feelings toward you over the past few weeks,” Chidi admits, and Eleanor can’t help but laugh at his calculated, overtly logical sincerity.

            “Okay,” she says, taking a deep, shaky breath, because hey, maybe feelings aren’t exactly _stupid_ , but they’re still hard to say aloud. “So yeah, maybe I have too.”

            They stand there for a moment, staring up at one another with big, goofy grins plastered across their faces, when a sudden thought occurs to Eleanor.

            “So, wait, if you like me too, then why did you bolt earlier? I mean, Michael and Tahani outed us _big time_. That would have been the perfect moment to…you know… _make a move_ ,” Eleanor says, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “So why didn’t you?”

            “Honestly?” Chidi says with a heavy sigh. “Nerves…and doubt…not about my _own_ feelings, just… _major_ doubt that you would ever feel the same way about me as I do about you. And, as you’re probably _painfully_ aware, I don’t work well under pressure. I got too deep inside my own head, imagining all possible avenues of failure and rejection, and I just…panicked.”

            Eleanor offers him a sympathetic smile, because, well, _she’s been there_.

            “I actually _ran_ back to my apartment,” Chidi admits with a self-depreciating chuckle. “Good to know my exercise-induced asthma still kicks in in the afterlife, by the way.”

            “Oh, you poor thing,” Eleanor frowns, running her free hand up the length of his arm in a comforting gesture.

            “I was kicking myself all afternoon,” he confesses. “So, finally, I made the decision to just go over to your house and…well, I wasn’t quite sure _what_ I was going to do, to be honest. I just knew that I had to see you, and going out for frozen yogurt was the first thing that popped into my head. I figured it would give us time to talk, and I could gauge your reaction and see if you felt the same way that I did…but then, of course, I got distracted by the sight of us having sex on your giant television…in graphic, vivid detail, I might add.”

            “But I mean…it looked pretty good, didn’t it?” Eleanor giggles, nudging him playfully.

            “It certainly _sounded_ like we were both enjoying it,” Chidi agrees, a note of pride in his voice. Eleanor’s smile grows even wider.

            “So this…how we feel right now, that’s…that’s real?” Eleanor asks hesitantly, because she has to make absolutely certain that she isn’t just _assuming_ here.

            “It feels real,” he says softly, eyes alight with hope.

            “And it’s mutual?” Eleanor asks, needing that extra little bit of reassurance. “None of this unrequited pining bullshirt?”

            Chidi laughs, and even though Eleanor knows it’s kind of at her expense, it’s still the best sound in the world.

            “Yes, Eleanor,” he says, smiling brightly. “It’s mutual.”

            “So, that means…that means that what we said on the tape…that was real, too,” Eleanor says softly.

            “Well,” Chidi sighs, reaching for Eleanor’s other hand and lacing his fingers with hers. “There’s only one way to find out for sure.”

            He closes the distance between them in one swift stride, slipping one of his hands out of hers to gently cup her face. He leans in slowly, eyes fluttering closed as Eleanor gasps in surprise and starts to mirror him, but the delicate sound makes him skittish and he wavers for a moment, like his brain is two steps behind his body and he’s only just realized how bold of a move he’s just made. He reaches forward to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, eyes meeting hers with panicked uncertainty, almost as if he’s silently asking her, _Is this okay?_

            In lieu of an answer, Eleanor laces her arms around his shoulders and presses her lips against his, more delicately than she’s ever kissed anyone before. It’s simple, and it’s sweet, and it lasts barely more than a few seconds, but that’s all the time she needs to know how she feels. When Eleanor pulls away, Chidi is gazing into her eyes like she’s just told him that magic is real.

            “Wow,” he says with a breathless chuckle. He starts to smile, but pauses midway when he sees the confused, slightly frustrated look on Eleanor’s face.

            “Is something wrong?” Chidi asks, starting to worry.

            “You’ve got to be forking _kidding_ me,” Eleanor says with a small shake of her head, but to Chidi’s immense relief, her tone is light and playful.

            “I really _am_ in love with a nerd,” she laughs, a brilliant smile spreading across her face as she looks up at Chidi, and before he has a chance to let those words truly sink in, she’s pulled him back toward her by the collar of his button-down shirt, and captured him in another kiss.

            More confident this time, Chidi responds in kind, arms wrapping around her waist, one hand placed firmly against the small of her back to keep her steady, like they’re slow-dancing. Led as if by instinct, they make their way back to Eleanor’s bedroom, giggling as they trip over the stupid non-stairs, pausing only for a moment when Chidi lifts her up and gently places her on the ledge, edging between her legs and kissing her with fervor.

            When they finally make it past the ledge and through her sliding bedroom doors, Eleanor wastes no time unbuttoning Chidi’s shirt and gliding her hands across the canvas of his chest, reveling in the way his smooth, taut muscles feel beneath her fingertips. Chidi shrugs off his shirt with a casual roll of his shoulders, and Eleanor bites her lower lip, eyes roving the length of him with pure admiration. She meets his eyes and curves her eyebrows suggestively, and Chidi can’t help but laugh, face growing hot as he pulls her flush against him.

            Ever so carefully, he slips his hands underneath the hem of her shirt and slides it off of her in one swift, fluid motion. Light as a whisper, he presses his lips against the back of her neck, taking pleasure in the way it makes her hair stand on end, sending shivers down her spine as he trails kisses across her collarbones, and is rewarded with a soft, low moan as Eleanor dips back onto the bed, winding her arms around his shoulders and gently pulling him down onto her. She’s just reaching for the loop of his belt when one of his hands comes up to stop her.

            “Eleanor, I just want to make absolutely sure…is this–” he says around a breathless moan as her fingertips tease the growing bulge in his trousers. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

            “I mean…with _me_?” he clarifies in an echo of the way he’d sounded on the tape, uncertainty overtaking him. Eleanor shimmies up the length of the bed and props herself up on her elbows until she’s eye-level with him.

            “Do _you_ want to?” she challenges, worrying for a moment that he somehow feels obligated to–

            “Yes,” he answers without missing a beat, followed by a quiet little chuckle in surprise at his own eagerness. “Yes, I definitely do.”

            His heart skips in his chest at the sight of her elated smile.

            “Okay, then,” Eleanor giggles, hands pressed against the curves of his chest as she skirts back down underneath him and makes quick work of the buttons of his trousers. “Shut up and help me get your pants off.”

            She’s met with an exasperated laugh and an amused eye roll as Chidi slowly peels off the rest of his clothes, feeling the prickle of a blush across the apples of her cheeks as she takes in the sight of him, lips parted in surprise.

            Chidi offers her a sheepish smile, biting his lower lip as he kneels before her, easing her out of her jeans, and taking his time as he slides that last little bit of sheer, lacy fabric down over her hips, before burying his lips into the curves of her thighs, spurred on by a series of dulcet moans and gasps as Eleanor tips her head back and her eyes flutter closed.

            He brings her teasingly, torturously close to the edge, and then pauses, winding a trail of kisses along the edge of her hip bones, smirking his way up the length of her torso as she giggles and writhes beneath him, noting every ticklish patch of skin he finds and pocketing those vital details for future teasing.

            As he reaches the soft, pink pout of her lips, he captures her in a slow, languid kiss, pouring every ounce of affection and longing into their gentle embrace as he settles his hips between the delicate curves of hers. Eleanor presses her forehead against his and closes her eyes, feeling the weight of his chest against hers, the thrum of his heart as it matches hers beat for beat, breathing in the comforting scent of him and burning every detail of him into her memory, not wanting to forget a single second of this.

            Because they might be in hell, but Eleanor is pretty damn sure that _this_ is the closest to heaven she’s ever been.

           

• • •

 

            “Eleanor?” Chidi asks softly as they lay there sometime later in the evening, chests rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a mountain of blankets pulled up around their shoulders. Eleanor hums as a way of response, fingertips skating across the length of Chidi’s finely-chiseled chest, smiling to herself as she replays a highlight reel of the last few hours, lost in her own little world.

            “I love you,” he whispers, and how he manages to evoke such heartfelt intensity into those three little words will never cease to amaze her. She jumps at the chance to say it back, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar _need_ aching in her chest, when that last little nettlesome pang of doubt creeps into the back of her mind, and she pauses.

            “Are you sure?” she asks tentatively, easing herself up off of his chest and fixing him with a quizzical look. “Because I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to say it, or–”

            “Eleanor,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a swift, sweet kiss to the top of her forehead. “I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”

            Eleanor bites her lower lip to keep a ridiculously goofy grin from forming as she snuggles back down and rests her head against his chest.

            “I love you, too,” she whispers, pressing a series of kisses across the curves of his torso. They lay there like that for a little while longer, soaking in the serenity of the moment as Chidi grazes his hand along the arc of Eleanor’s shoulders. In a world unfamiliar, Eleanor has never felt so at home.

            “What do you think is going to happen to us?” she asks as she worries her lower lip, echoing the same fear shared by a not-so-different version of herself from a hundred lifetimes ago. “What if our big deception plan fails, and they send us all to the _real_ Bad Place? I don’t want to have to forget you again.”

            Chidi ponders that for a moment, tensing ever so slightly and then uncoiling, all within the span of a few seconds. He wraps his arm around Eleanor’s side, pulling her closer and holding her tight as he presses his lips against her temple.

            “Then we’ll just have to keep finding one another,” he says, far calmer and more confident than he’s ever sounded before. “I have a feeling we always will.”

            He laces his fingers with hers, giving her an affectionate, reassuring squeeze.

            He makes it feel like a promise.


End file.
